People Talk
by Glitterglue
Summary: I'm not sure what it is. Draco's musings. Not really angsty as much as indifferent.


Disclaimer: not mine  
  
A.N.: This just wrote itself. I don't want Draco to be bad, but I'm pretty sure he will, just because he doesn't know how to be anything else.  
  
There always were rumors about me. And I suppose there always will. I was the biggest asshole in school, quite possibly the whole world. I am who I am, and I can't change my personality just as I can't change my blood. I'm not sure that I want to, and I'm ashamed of that. Why wouldn't I want to be better? Why wouldn't I want people to like me? I know who I am. I am Draco Malfoy, and all that that entails. And I know that I have my part to play.  
  
People talk, I've heard every exaggerated and laughably false statement concerning my childhood that exists. That I was beaten daily by my insane father to teach me, God knows, some lesson like 'Don't cry' or 'Love is useless' or 'Be the best or I'll beat you harder.' Those rumors died out after 4th year when my cruel and generally nasty streak began to apply to everyone and not just Potter and his sidekicks.  
  
Then there was the one about how my father had been training me in the dark arts from infancy, that I already had the Dark Mark, that I was to be Voldemort's heir. My personal favorite was that I was a vicious rapist who preyed upon weak girls in dark hallways.  
  
I will not lie, some part of me wishes that those were true. At least then I would have known my father. I don't, not really. We've never spoken more then 100 words to each other in my whole life, and no, they were never things like, "You've made me proud, son." But, then again, they were never things like, "You're useless, you disgrace the Malfoy name blah blah blah."  
  
It was always, "How old are you again, Draco?" or "Aren't you supposed to be in school now, boy?" or "Where's your mum, it's nearly time for dinner." My father has never raised his voice at me or struck me or actually smiled at me. He would just sweep his eyes across my face to see how I looked this year and his expression would make me suspect that he wanted to say more, but, wait, he had many matters of consequence to handle.  
  
I will not lie, every year that I returned to Hogwarts to see those dreadful Weasley's wearing their dreadful sweaters, I was, still am jealous. Because they looked so oblivious to the fact that I returned in wonderful new robes with wonderful new supplies and wonderful new brooms that I had bought all alone with the gold that appeared by my bedroom door on Christmas morning. Because they were unaware that in every shop I stepped into, I had to make up a new lie to the ever-present question, "Ah, where's your father today, Young Malfoy?" And I was full of 'Oh, just doing some business next door' or 'I'm afraid he's not well at the moment.'or 'He's around here somewhere, I'm surprised he hasn't popped in to say hello yet.'  
  
I will not lie. There will come a time when my father will stride into my room, look me in the eye for the first time in God knows how long and say, "It's time." Then he'll stride out and I'll stride after him and I'll get that black scar on my arm too. I wont argue and I wont fight and I wont be excited and I wont smile, I'll just do it. Because that's what expected of me, just like being the world's biggest asshole is expected of me. This, as you may have noticed, is a war. There has to be the good guys that take the blows bravely and flinch but grit their teeth and stick it out and win and get the glory. Some people have to die, or else what was the point. There has to be the girl waiting at home, wringing her hands with worry before she gets courageous and fights too. And there has to be the enemy. There has to be the guy that everyone knew was rotten from the get go. He's just one piece of this giant army you have to defeat, but finishing him off would be a personal victory that the good guy can't pass up.  
  
I will die before this war is finished, I have to doubts or qualms about that. This is the part that I have to play and I'm just as vital a character in this plot as Potter or Granger or any of those damned Weasley's in their dreadful sweaters. I will die because that's the part I have to play, because that's what's expected of me. I'll die and people will still talk. 


End file.
